


Cold Hands

by jujubiest



Series: PoI Ficlets [5]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Absolutely Filthy Disgusting Levels of Fluff, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-21 08:15:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2461205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jujubiest/pseuds/jujubiest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reese uses Finch as a hand-warmer, much to Finch's indignation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the response I wrote [here](http://star-lords-pelvic-sorcery.tumblr.com/post/100019251229) in response to "which person in your otp sticks their cold hands on any of their partner’s exposed skin?"
> 
> Unbeta'd, barely edited after I wrote the first draft because I just sort of sat there in a stupor of horror over the fluff I had wrought.
> 
> Seriously, this is just stupidly shameless levels of "ugh" fluffy. I am disgusted with myself. *hides under a rock and giggles*

It was an early-onset winter, cold and wet before the end of October. It snowed on Halloween, the horribly semi-transparent slush that made sidewalks hazardous and roads deadly.

Reese arrived at the library in less than amenable spirits, carrying a drink tray with his coffee and Finch’s tea in one hand and a box of donuts in the other. He wasn’t wearing any gloves—he hated wearing gloves—and his fingers were aching with cold.

“Good morning, Mr. Reese,” Finch said with a nod as he turned to retrieve his tea. His attention was back on the monitor almost immediately, and he looked entirely too warm and cozy in all his layers. A grin slipped across Reese’s face.

“Good morning, Finch,” he said casually, moving around so that he was stood behind Finch, leaning over a bit as if to read over his shoulder. He had observed that Finch, contrary to every other computer-type Reese had ever met, didn’t seem to mind being hovered over in this way.

He reached out and pressed his icy fingers to the back of Finch’s neck.

Finch jerked in his seat and yelped. It was high-pitched and horrified, the most undignified noise Reese had ever heard him make. Reese snorted with laughter; he couldn’t help it. It was funny.

Finch turned in his chair to fix Reese with a glare that was equal parts ire and disbelief.

“Mr. Reese.” He said flatly, disapproving.

“Finch,” Reese answered. His mouth twitched around the word; he couldn’t quite keep the laughter out of his voice. Finch narrowed his eyes at him, scrutinizing. Then his face evened out into a perfect blank, and he turned back to resume his work.

Reese’s hands were still on his neck.

* * *

 

The next morning when he arrived at the library, there was a pair of gloves sitting pointedly in the spot usually kept clear for donuts. Reese picked them up; they were nice, supple black leather with a warm, soft lining that would no doubt keep his hands wonderfully toasty. He placed the donuts on the desk and slipped the gloves neatly into his coat pocket.

“Thanks Finch,” he said, and was rewarded with a curt nod and the familiar phrase: “We have another number, Mr. Reese.”

They got down to work.

* * *

 

Reese almost felt guilty about it, but he flat refused to wear the gloves. He knew all the practical reasons for them, but he’d never liked wearing gloves. Even the best-fitting pair made his hands feel too large, clumsy, disconnected from whatever he was supposed to be doing. He was a tactile person; he liked to feel the things he touched.

Also, it gave him an excellent method of annoying Finch.

He kept the gloves in his coat pocket, folded and ready should he ever need a pair for any reason. But he arrived at the library every day with cold hands, which he promptly pressed to the back of Finch’s neck, insinuating the tips of his fingers into the warm space just under the edge of his collar.

Finch resigned himself to his partner’s bizarre behavior after the first week, though he still occasionally felt the need to fix him with a reproachful glare.

At some point during the long New York winter, he found he had begun to expect this little morning ritual. Doughnut, hot cup of tea, jolt of cold. Sometimes Reese would huff a quiet laugh and then remove his hands, but sometimes he would linger while Finch took him through the details of their latest case, cold fading to cool and then to pleasant neutrality as their bodies found an equilibrium of shared warmth.

* * *

 

Summer was as late and gradual in coming as winter was too soon and sudden. Finch found himself shedding his suit jacket—though he invariably kept the vest—as soon as he entered the library. Reese went so far as to unbutton his sleeves and roll them up to the elbows.

One morning the doughnuts appeared on the table, and Finch’s tea found its way into his hands as usual…but no fingers found the back of his neck. Of course; it was warm out now. Reese’s hands weren’t going to be cold anymore for a while. Several months in fact.

Finch told himself that was good, that he would no longer be subjected to Reese’s freezing digits chilling the back of his neck every morning. He resolutely decided he was not going to miss it at all.

His face must have taken a second longer to be convincing than his brain convinced, because Reese fixed him with an odd look as he turned to grab a doughnut. Finch ignored the question implied, and took a bite of his doughnut.

The next morning he nearly fell out of his seat with surprise when he felt a familiar jolt of icy cold on the skin at the back of his neck. He turned and looked up at Reese in astonishment.

“What on earth?”

Reese grinned at him from around the straw sticking out of his mouth.

“Sorry, Finch,” he said, after a long pull of what appeared to be some sort of smoothie. “My hands got cold carrying this thing all the way from the café.”

Finch just stared at him, open mouthed, for a full five seconds. Then his face collapsed into a helpless little grin. He turned back to his work, leaning in a little to the feel of Reese’s hand underneath his shirt collar. His fingers were already growing warm.


End file.
